Page 1 of Hot for the Jerk

CHAPTER ONE

Jagger

“Jag!”Wyattcalledtome from where he stood with his wife, Vica, near the bar.He lifted his chin, then made a little finger crook—which meant I was supposed to stop whatever I was doing and hop to it, because big brother said so.Rolling my eyes, I finished my conversation with Willy Reilly, the crab man, and took my half-full bottle of winterberry ale with me as I made my way over to my brother with zero hurry in my step.“You rang?”

Wyatt snorted and Vica giggled.

“Even though Dom said no, we hooked up the karaoke machine Vica bought.Figured you’d like to be the one to break it in since you’ve got that deep, magical singing voice.”Wyatt playfully gripped me by the shoulder and gave a brotherly squeeze.

I rolled my eyes.

“He’s not saying no,” Vica said with hope in her voice, her Italian accent extra thick since she was on at least her second glass of wine.“I love karaoke, but my voice is rubbish compared to the delightful baritone of Mr.Jagger McEvoy here.”She batted her long, dark lashes at me.“Please, Jagger?It can be your Christmas present to me.”

“Is this your way of seeing if I got you for Secret Santa?”I asked.“Nice try.”I turned to Wyatt.“Your wife is one sneaky little Italian, you know that?”

Wyatt snickered and looped his arm around Vica, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.“I know.I love it.”

“You still haven’t said no,” Vica went on.

“Summer of ’69”by the legendary Canadian, Bryan Adams, came on.I glared at Wyatt.He knew that song was my weakness.All he did was grin at me.I glanced around the party and found my three other brothers and their partners all staring at me, smiling.

This was a setup if ever there was one.

But it wasn’t their eyes I was truly searching for.I subtly scanned the room until I found the yellow-green catlike eyes of my nemesis.And, of course, she was looking right at me.

I managed a sneer at her before puffing up my chest, slapping on a big grin, and marching over to the karaoke machine.

“Yesssss!”Vica cheered.“I knew it!”

I reached for the microphone just as Bryan sung about playing his six-string until his fingers bled.

The whole crowd—which consisted of most of the islanders—turned to face me and many of them cheered, their heads bobbing along to the music.I didn’t even need to read the lyrics off of the screen.I knew the song by heart.It was one of the few songs that I couldn’t say no to.

Everyone in the crowd was smiling or singing along.

Everyone but Raina Aaronson.

I snorted and smiled even wider as I sang, delighting in her glare and the way she tried with all her tiny, redheaded might to pop my head off with her laser-vision.

Sorry, sweetheart.You’ll have to do more than that to take me out.

I got really into it and by the end, I had the entire bar singing along just as loud as me.The rain and wind outside hammering our humble little restaurant was no match for the warmth and community inside.It was our first-ever Christmas open house, and if the bright and cheery faces in front of me were any indication, I would say it was a huge success.

The last line of the song was chanted in perfect harmony through all of us, followed quickly by cheering and applause.But my joy was fleeting as a very boney elbow abruptly shoved me off of stage and the microphone was snatched from my hand.Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” came up on the screen, the first few chords of the intro filling the room.

“My turn,” Raina said to me, plastering on a big, fake smile before turning to the audience and offering them one far more genuine.

Heat filled my face and belly.

Nobody had ever pushed my buttons the way this prickly little porcupine of a woman did, and she’d done so since nearly the moment I met her.She also seemed to follow me around like a bad fart.She was always where I was.First, she infiltrated my book club.Then, she started turning up at local artisan markets, where I peddled some of the brewery’s beer to people who trekked over to the island during the summer months for the markets.She booked herself a table, which was right next to mine, to sell her family winery crap.

Okay, fine.The wine wasn’t crap.It was actually fucking delicious.But because she peddled it, it was crap.She always seemed to be at the grocery store when I was, and even ran the same trails that I did.It was like she was stalking me or something.

I stepped down off the small stage and went behind the bar to grab myself another beer.When I stood up, popping the cap, all four of my older brothers were standing on the other side of the bar, giving me some very curious looks.

“What?”I snapped, tipping the lager up to my lips.

“What the hell was that about?”Clint, our oldest brother and brewmaster, asked before taking a sip of his cranberry spice Witbier.

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